PBS & The Shopping Trolley Of Doom!
by Gordon Dempster
Summary: Benny is not having a good day...


PROFESSOR BERNICE SUMMERFIELD AND THE SHOPPING TROLLEY OF DOOM 

"You utter git!" Benny shouted as they came back into the TARDIS. 

"A short hop before you drop me off on Dellah, you said," she gave the Doctor the look. He at least had the courtesy to look sheepish. 

"First, you take me to the wrong Glastonbury! I wanted to see Orbital in 1999, not The Shirehorses in 1997! As for the rain and the mud, I may make my living digging around in dirt, but that just took, not only the biscuit, but the whole bloody barrel!" 

"But..." the Doctor started. 

"I'm not finished," the Doctor immediately shut up. Daleks, Nimon, Trods, even Cybermen, none were quite as intimidating as an extremely unhappy Professor Bernice S. Summerfield. 

"Secondly, a monastery. You could have landed in one where they make extremely intoxicating wine, but no. Bread and water. By that point I hadn't had a drink for two weeks!" 

The Doctor didn't even bother trying to interject during this pause. He started inconspicuously feeling around in his pockets. 

"Then, to cap it all off, Florana! Beautiful pools! Wonderful weather! Excellent company! Fine wines!" she emphasised each phrase with a hearty poke to the Doctor's chest. He tried to look away, guiltily. 

"At least it would have been if the bloody Voord hadn't gotten their towels on the deckchairs first! 

Benny whirled round, spreading her arms wide and screamed at the console room roof. 

"I DEMAND SOME BOOZE!!!" 

The Doctor finally found what he was looking for, "Ah, there you are, 

I haven't used you since...oh, I needed to bring a bottle to Liz Shaw's leaving party." 

He slowly walked up to Benny. "Benny, I am truly, truly sorry. For everything. For Glastonbury, the monastery, the Voord, even the bouncy castle incident." 

"I was going to let you off with that one, it was actually quite funny." 

"Here, take this," he handed Benny a small key. "This is by way of an apology for everything." 

"What's it for?" 

"Take the first corridor on the right. Third door along. First left, past the swimming pool, second door on your left, through the library, up the stairs, past the go-kart track," 

"Go-kart track?!?!" 

The Doctor looked a bit sheepish again, "Yes, well, you see my third inca..." 

"Don't bother, I can guess" 

"Anyway, past the track and the key goes in the big set of double doors to the left." 

"Alright. This had better be good." 

Benny trotted off towards the internal doors. 

"Benny!" cried the Doctor. She turned round to see him holding a shopping trolley that she could have sworn wasn't in the console room a second ago. "You may need this." 

----- 

Benny trundled along the corridors with the trolley. I don't trust him, she was thinking. This is the sort of thing the last one would have done. Devious little git that he was. Bloody hell, she thought, he wasn't joking about the go-kart track. She looked at a strange car with wings. I don't think I want to know, the old roadster was bad enough, I can't believe he never put seatbelts on that thing. Jimmy Saville would not have been happy about that. Ah, here we are... 

Benny walked up to the imposing, oak-panelled doors. She twirled the key around in her fingers. Well, Professor Summerfield, she thought, what could possibly be bad about opening these doors, it's not like I'm going to unleash a demon that ruled over a parallel version of Ancient Rome, is it? 

She pushed the key into the lock, it went in and turned easily. She shoved the doors open, took one look at the room behind them and... 

"Ha ha ha haaaa, ha haaa, ha haaaaa! You devious little bugger! I knew you had to have one of these somewhere! Ha ha ha!" 

The room was about the size of an average warehouse. Huge shelves reached to the high ceiling, with steps and ladders to access the very top ones. The shelves were full of racks, hundreds, no thousands of them and in each and every one of the cubby holes in these racks, was a different bottle of wine. 

The TARDIS wine cellar. The perfect antidote for the archaeologist who is not a happy bunny. 


End file.
